


In mourning we come together

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Language of Flowers, M/M, Omnics, Post-Recall, Sad, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 10:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11228796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Mondatta/Zenyatta (past)* On the anniversary of Mondatta's death, Zenyatta stands in front of his memorial at King's Row.





	In mourning we come together

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry the only fics for this pairing I can write appear to be mourning pieces after Mondatta's death... so I gotta work hard to bring forth something different and happier soon. Hang in there, it's coming.

**In mourning we come together**

 

Genji looked around.

King’s Row was full of people.

There were many omnics there –many more than he’d ever seen in a single place, even at the monastery. Some were older models, with dented chassis and outdated appearances, while others were newer, more polished ones. Here and there, a few lonesome omnics towered above the crowd, with tinier looking ones zooming past the legs of the others, only to disappear out of sight.

Watching all those kinds gathered together in the same place, Genji for the first time found himself thinking that this –the mismatched melting pot surrounding him– was what diversity looked like for omnics.

Many models were similar, and yet to his keen eyes, no two omnics looked exactly the same. They were all different, from all over the world, each of them with their own distinctive appearance and quirks, some dressed and some wearing only their metallic chassis, and they had all arrived to King’s Row to stand as one and pay homage to the memory of the late Tekhartha Mondatta on the first anniversary of his death.

It was… humbling.

Among them, humans. Genji had expected to see _some_ , yes, but the sheer number of them was both surprising and heart-warming.

Even the humans varied greatly in appearance and number, mingling with the omnics and looking like they belonged there, and to Genji’s eyes, humans and omnics alike did not look all that different.

The sight alone made something shift in his chest, tight and heavy, a little like hope but also a little like bitterness. Between them, even he could pass by unnoticed, as just like them, Genji too was here to mourn.

“It is… impressive,” he hummed, unable to keep quiet even with the sober mood.

At his side, Zenyatta turned to look at him. He was quiet, solemn and withdrawn ever since the OverWatch plane had landed in London earlier in the morning, but now he looked almost frail, and the knot in Genji’s chest tightened further. To others, Zenyatta would have looked as untouched as ever, but Genji had known him for a long time, and could read past a face that showed no expressions now.

 “I am glad,” Zenyatta’s voice was warm, with a tinge of something Genji couldn’t place. “It has been one year, and I was not expecting to see so many gathered here… for him.”

Genji smiled at that –a tiny, wry smile that no one could see, underneath his visor. “He would have been happy to see so many people standing together, wouldn’t he?”

“Indeed. He would think that gathering here to celebrate his death is useless, but he’d be grateful for what it means for us to be standing here as one.” Zenyatta sighed, wistfully, and glanced down at his hands.

The past year had gone by quickly. Many things had changed, since Tekhartha Mondatta had been assassinated. Zenyatta had found a new path, pledging his allegiance to OverWatch to make an active change.

King’s Row was packed full, and it was only because Zenyatta had once been part of the Shambali that he had been allowed this close to the monument on this day. The other members of the organization had been there earlier, and they had spent some time catching up, talking for the first time in years. The meeting had left Zenyatta feeling wistful and melancholic, but grateful that his old friends had not decided to cast him away in hatred.

He would not go back, but it was good to know they would not close their doors to his face.

The other Shambali had retired elsewhere to allow Zenyatta some privacy to mourn in front of the monument, though with so many people surrounding him privacy was nothing more than wishful thinking… and yet, he’d appreciated the sentiment.

Surrounded by his old life, Zenyatta would have felt constricted, and it was better this way, to be by himself with only his thoughts as company. Well, and Genji, of course.

He had yet to approach the memorial photography of Mondatta, though; he remained idle a few feet away from it, eyeing the guards standing nearby. With so many people, most of them omnics, there was fear of a possible attack, so there were guards stationed all around the area, keeping an eye on the crowd.

As he hesitated, he fiddled with the trinket he was holding.

Zenyatta had no flowers for Mondatta’s memorial, and even if he did, they would disappear in the sea of colourful gifts everybody had left in front of his statue. Instead he had a small, handmade brooch that he’d commissioned weeks in advance, providing the maker with the right metals and a description of what he wanted –three flowers with their stems wrapped together, their roots splitting to form the Shambali symbol and their leaves spread to the sides. On its back there was a small word carved in omnic language, which translated was simply the name Zenyatta and Mondatta had shared –Tekhartha.

The polished surface caught a stray ray of sunshine, managing to also catch Genji’s eyes.

“You did not say–” Zenyatta looked up at him “–what those mean. When you commissioned it, you asked for those specific flowers, but I do not know them, and yet I know they have a meaning.”

 “These are an arbutus, an amaranth and a primrose,” Zenyatta brushed his thumb against each flower as he named them. They were made of different metals –the arbutus in silver, the amaranth in copper and the primrose in rose gold, with stems and leaves carved in stainless steel– and the ending result was stunning for such a small piece. Yet, he chose not to elaborate on the flowers yet, not willing to disclose anything more while surrounded by others. Instead he swept one arm to the sea of flowers surrounding the statue. There were so many, left there as gifts, they covered every inch of the plaza. “Look, Genji. All the ones who came here brought flowers. They are so beautiful, but… they will die. It is such the fate of everything living –one day it will wither and be thrown out. What they mean will stay, though, seeping into this place, seeping into the hearts of those who are gathered here, and of all the ones who have been unable to come.”

“So you chose to bring something that will not wither.” There was no judgement in Genji’s voice, nor smugness. Just like Zenyatta, Genji had been taken in by Mondatta and had known him well enough that his death had been devastating for him, too. Still he _knew_ that the bond between Mondatta and Zenyatta had been deeper than that… and that was a little bit of comfort for Zenyatta.

“I allowed myself this, yes.” Zenyatta remained quiet for a moment, head tilted up to observe the statue towering over him.

After what felt like forever, he unfolded his legs and dropped down on his feet. Behind him, he heard Genji gasp, his training as a warrior failing him as he did not manage to keep his composure. Zenyatta pretended not to notice, nor when he heard Lena make a small, strangled gasp from where she was standing nearby. She’d been so quiet until then, it was eerie and far too easy to forget she was even there.

“Master…?”

Genji had been at his side for a long time. Ever since Mondatta’s death, Zenyatta had refused to walk. He had not offered an explanation to him, and Genji had not asked, simply respecting what he’d thought was a gesture of sadness and grief, but he had grown used to his master not walking anymore. In time, it had become normal, expected.

Even when they had both joined OverWatch, no one had batted an eyelash at his hovering, and if any of them had asked, none had done so to Zenyatta himself, probably afraid of some faux-pas, though Lena had seemed to know, somehow.

Standing felt weird. His legs had not been used for a year, and while he performed maintenance constantly to make sure they were in order, the sensation of them holding up his weight was almost foreign, now.

He stood still for a few seconds to make sure he would not fall, protocols recalibrating at the new input.

“It has been one year, Genji,” and there was a different quality to Zenyatta’s voice now. stronger, yet more vulnerable than it had ever been. “I have mourned him for a year, and I will mourn him longer still, but here, in front of his memorial, my mourning joins that of many others. We are all united as one under the same goal, and that we are all here, now, will be the strongest message we could ever send the world.”

It seemed that his words were loud enough that the people in his vicinity had taken notice. They turned to look at him, probably recognizing his garb or his visage, or perhaps simply curious about the strange hovering omnic who was now standing so close to the memorial.

They stared, and listened.

“We have lost Mondatta, who was more than just the founder of the Shambali. He was more than a symbol, more than a figurehead. He still lives in every person, in every omnic, who looks at the world with kind eyes and fights so we can all live in peace, respected and accepted. Standing here, we are making sure his message reaches far, for we are many whereas he was just one. We all bring a piece of the Iris within us, and with that, Mondatta will live on through it, and through all of us.”

He moved past the flowers, his footsteps secure and unfaltering, and reached the small, unassuming photography under the statue.

That, too, was just a symbol, a token where one was needed –a photo where no soul nor spirit was, but it did not matter, in the end. What mattered were the feelings inside him. This place was as good as any other.

He placed the brooch down in front of the solemn face of Mondatta, now frozen forever as he had been, and stepped away, returning to Genji’s side. He studiously ignored how both Genji and Lena were looking at him, radiating worry and grief, to keep his focus on the photography instead.

He knew they were curious, though, and in a way, Zenyatta knew he owed them at least a partial explanation.

“I have mourned his death by giving up my legs, for he was the one who helped me stand when I first needed a hand,” he said, and if his voice trembled a little, neither mentioned it… though Genji did place one hand, comfortingly, on Zenyatta’s back. “He saved my life, and because of him I was able to walk down the path that led me to the Shambali at first, and then further ahead, to OverWatch. The same path I met you on, my student. What I am now, even as I walked away from the Shambali to travel on my own, is because of him. Because of that, I chose not to walk anymore, for without him, I feel like my legs have been cut off once more, and I am left halved.”

He heard Genji stiffen, and Lena’s choked sob. He hummed softly, and his mala glowed golden for a moment, though not even Zenyatta himself was sure who they were meant to soothe.

“Master, I never…” Genji had to clear his throat, his voice sounding strained even through his visor, but then he seemed to lose his words, because all he could do was lean against Zenyatta, the hand on his back heavy and grounding.

“Do not mistake my words for empty grief, Genji. I stand here in respect to all he was, and all he did, not because I believe this place has any significance in itself –it’s the people gathered here, in fact– but because we honour his message by continuing to work to further it. His love belongs to us all, as we are all one within the Iris. I do not need his spirit to be here for my soul to feel at peace even as I mourn, because he _is_ with me, Genji.”

“I…” it took Genji a few more seconds before he finally found his words again. “Forgive me for disagreeing, master, but… Mondatta might have belonged to his mission, and yet… I am pretty sure I speak the truth when I say that his heart has always belonged solely to you.”

It was the conviction in Genji’s tone that surprised Zenyatta enough that he twisted his head to look at his student, his calm visage faltering for a second at the heartfelt words. Speechless, he leaned against him, unapologetically seeking some comfort from the one person who understood, who had walked at his side for a year, helping him place the shattered remains of his soul back together, until he could function once again.

Maybe he had wanted to hear that, and Zenyatta was no saint even in his desires. He had known that Mondatta loved him, just as much as he’d loved him back, even when their path had split them apart, but perhaps… perhaps it was different.

It was not just a tiny sparkle, lost before it could be seen. It had been witnessed. It had not existed just for them, lost with the death of Mondatta to only live on through Zenyatta.

 He leaned forwards, pressing one hand against Genji’s faceplate in a gentle caress, and offered him a smile with his flickering forehead array. “Thank you.”

At least, Zenyatta was not left alone to mourn on his own.

***

It was on the way back to the OverWatch base that Lena finally spoke up, her curiosity offering her a subject to talk about.

Eyes red and cheeks swollen due to her crying, it had taken her a bit to collect herself enough to talk. Despite Zenyatta’s reassurances in the past Lena still felt at fault for Mondatta’s assassination. Her brain kept focusing on the what-ifs, and as the anniversary had grown closer, she had slipped deeper and deeper in her own grief, so Zenyatta had asked her to go to the mourning vigil with him, hoping it would offer her some form of consolation.

It had helped to be there, and be at his side, facing the one time her failure had caused someone’s death, but it did not mean she wasn’t hurting. Even then, her mind sought to find something to focus on that was not her pain, and Zenyatta’s brooch was as good as anything else.

“Zen…” her voice shook, more so when Zenyatta turned to look at her from where he was seated. “Can I… I mean, I was wondering if… I…”

“If there is anything I can do for you, Lena, do not hesitate to ask.”

He sounded a little overwhelmed, and yet still willing to listen to her, and it made Lena shrink back a little. “No I just… I was wondering about the…” she made a small, aborted motion with her head, pointing to the side, in the direction where King’s Row was, now far below as they flew high in the sky.

Zenyatta’s forehead array flickered, three of his jieba going dark for a split second in an omnic approximation of a blink as he seemed to process her unfinished question. “You wish to ask me about the flowers on the brooch, yes?”

A complex mix of relief and guilt washed through her, lips stretched into an embarrassed, tense smile. “Ah, haha, yeah.” Then she seemed to think better of it, noticing his hunched shoulders, his tired stance, because she hastened to add “I mean! It’s personal, I don’t really _need_ to–”

“It is alright. I admit I did not wish to speak of this in front of so many people, but you are not a stranger, Lena. Do not be hesitant when you wish to know something. I consider you a good friend and teammate, and I hope you think the same of me.”

Lena deflated a bit but nodded, reassured only partially, and offered him a small, fond smile. “Alright then. And of course you’re my friend, Zenyatta!”

Genji, who had been sitting right next to Zenyatta, tried not to look too invested in the conversation, leaning casually against the seat to hide his interest, though he knew he had fooled no one. Zenyatta had revealed the names of the flowers he had picked for the brooch, but not their meaning, and he was just as curious about it as Lena was.

“The arbutus flower,” Zenyatta spoke, head tilted to look out of the window instead of at Lena, “is known to mean ‘I love only you’.” the tone was plain enough that the meaning of his words was conveyed without fail.

Lena’s mouth opened in a small ‘o’, eyes wide. She should have expected it, honestly, and yet the gentle, even tone Zenyatta had used managed to surprise her. He sounded casual, like he was talking about the weather instead of his own feelings exposed so plainly. She glanced over at Genji, eyes wide, but his visor did not let her know what he was thinking.

“Amaranth means ‘immortal love’,” Zenyatta continued, unperturbed by her visible shock. “A love that does not die. As for primrose, the meaning is similar. It is ‘eternal love’. You could think these to be the same, but I always felt that immortal means something that will not _end_ , while eternal is a love that will not wither, but continue on and on, with the same intensity. As you can see, I have picked flowers with a common theme. Does that surprise you, Lena?” and there, in his tone, she could hear a faint amusement.

“I…” she shook her head hastily. She had _suspected_ , of course, and Genji’s reaction to her tactless prodding had always been telling, but… she had never known for sure, and had never wanted to directly ask him –maybe for fear of what his answer would be ( _yet another reason to feel guilty for her failure_ ), or of hurting him thoughtlessly.

His quiet, frank words made Lena think that if she’d asked him at any point, he would have told her right away.

“No,” she swallowed around her dry throat, and shook her head again to try and make sense of her own jumbled thoughts. “I’ve always known he had been important for you, just not how much. I am…” –another wave of grief filled her, the sudden realisation that if she’d lost Emily at any point, like Zenyatta had lost Mondatta…  it brought tears to her eyes again. “Oh, Zenyatta, I’m _so sorry_ …”

“Thank you,” it was telling that Zenyatta did not say that things were fine –all three of them knew they were not, not yet, and maybe not ever– but the warmth in his tone was enough to let Lena know that he was grateful for her words nonetheless. “I do miss him, but I have missed him longer still. Ever since leaving the monastery, when our paths split.” Zenyatta tilted his head down, optical eyes unseeing even as he stared out of the plane’s window. His next words were so quiet Lena almost didn’t hear them, and felt instantly bad, as Zenyatta probably hadn’t meant for her or Genji to hear them. “I’d always thought there would be time to see him again, but I was wrong. I am the one that was left behind, and I can only keep walking on my path.”

Genji attempted to reach out, wanting to help his master with such a devastating blow, but he stopped halfway through. Hunched on himself, appearing vulnerable and hurt, Zenyatta still looked unreachable, and Genji was not sure how to bridge that distance.

He wanted to help him so badly, but what kind of help could he offer?

His hand fell back on his lap, fingers curling into a fist, and a glance over at Lena told him that she was feeling the same helplessness as well.

“I am grateful you are both here, though,” Zenyatta’s next words jolted both Genji and Lena out of their own thoughts. “I must admit I might not have been able to… handle things as well, if you had not been there. Genji has felt the loss of Mondatta as well, and yet he was there for me, and… asking you to come, Lena, was perhaps also for my own peace of mind, and not just because you deserved to be there, as well.”

Blinking her tears away, Lena gritted her teeth and smiled. “Ah, of course. Even the great Tekhartha Zenyatta has to be selfish once in a while, right?”

His laughter was shaky and weak, but it was still something. “Indeed, Lena.”

This time, Genji did manage to reach out, wrapping one arm around Zenyatta’s shoulder in silent comfort, just as he had done earlier in front of the memorial –and like before, Zenyatta willingly accepted the touch, leaning against him, shutting down his optical sensors.

“I feel it’s alright if you let yourself grieve, master,” Genji’s words were for his auricular sensors only, and it was like they’d unlocked a fresh wave of pain within Zenyatta’s chest, because he was unable to speak, overwhelmed by the size of the pain he felt so keenly still.

Oh, he missed him so, and the worst was that…

This was just the first year after Mondatta had died.

There would be many more to come, and Zenyatta was not sure the pain he felt would ever diminish, even with time blunting its sharp blade.

Still, though…

_Still_.

Zenyatta truly was grateful he did not have to face those future days all on his own.


End file.
